


Temper

by superagentwolf



Series: With Religious Fervor [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Grindelwald, Pre-Slash, Short, mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/superagentwolf
Summary: Two moments in which Graves comes to rescue Credence even when he knows better.





	

He apparates in a swirl of black and white, colors twisting around each other the way his conscience twists itself when he thinks about what he’s doing.

Graves twists out into an alley, cobblestones wet and dirty beneath the tapping of his shoes. He moves with confidence and ease, walking as if he thinks no one will see him.

No one does.

No one except the young man at the end of the alley.

Credence is turned to the wall, shoulders struggling to meet in an effort to provide protection. It makes Graves’ gut twist to see the pain and subservience in the boy’s body manifesting in a contorted pose. He knows something is wrong because Credence does not turn, does not give Graves his full attention, eyes always so filled with wonder and worship.

“What’s wrong?”

Credence whimpers, a small noise that escapes in much the same way Graves suspects the boy wants to. He is angry at the thought, unreasonably furious when he imagines the belt whistling through cold air.

“Let me see, my boy,” Graves tries slowly, reaching. He has learned that saying Credence’s name can be a double-edged sword.

Sometimes, Credence seems responsive to the sound of his own name. Other times, he seems frightened by it. Graves can understand.

He faces the same conflict with their relationship.

This time, though, Credence does not extend his arms. He stays there, body present but mind somewhere far away. He huddles against the stone wall as if it his only support in life. Graves feels something lash deep in his chest.

_“Please! Please, I was just trying to help-,”_

“ _Show_ me. Now,” Graves repeats, demanding.

Credence blinks, a glazed look flattening his features, and extends his arms.

_God, no, that’s not-,_ Graves thinks, immediately ill. He did not want to command the boy. He only-

“…I only want to help,” Graves says quietly, an edge of hurt bleeding into his words.

Credence comes back to his body, something whispering into his lungs just as breath does. His eyes flicker to life, suddenly widening a fraction, focusing on the figure before him.

“I’m sorry,” Credence manages, the apology filled with self-hate and regret.

“No,” Graves replies, voice breaking off the end of the word. “No- I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

He gently pushes starched sleeves back, examining the raw wounds, rough wool clinging to the angry red skin that pulls away from bright red cuts.

He _feels_ for Credence.

He shouldn’t.

Credence is weak. He is unable to break free. He is abused but he has become so downtrodden that he welcomes it, probably prefers the commands and subservience to the terrifying concept of being alone in the world. And he should. He has seen the darkest pits of humanity; he has seen a mother turned against a child. He has seen protector turn abuser. He has seen it and he has taken the only option available to him.

Graves is a hypocrite for expecting anything different.

But he is a wizard and so he _does_ , he does think of himself in the same situation, thinks of how he would lash and bleed and struggle with all the magic in his body.

It is an unfair comparison. After all, Credence has no magic. He only wants it.

* * *

Mister Graves, Credence thinks, has a temper.

It isn’t anger, though. It’s different. Graves has a look in his eye that Credence recognizes and he’s drawn to it. It’s the mark of darkness. Graves has been through the fire and shadow and he has become _tempered_.

Credence hasn’t achieved that distinction. He is still in the pit, still clawing his way to the mouth. He moves in painfully slow inches, resting and allowing the fire to lick his body between attempts to get out.

“You should not have to endure this,” Graves murmurs, voice rough as the hands tracing Credence’s arms.

The sensation is sin. It is wrong, Credence reminds himself. It is wrong the way it makes him warm. The way it twists him somewhere deep inside. The way it makes him want more, want to be absorbed, breathed into another, sinking in at the pores.

“I shouldn’t have-,” he begins, shaky, trying to explain that _it’s his fault, it always is_ , but Graves does not take his answers.

“You did nothing wrong,” Graves says slowly, each word drawn out, hand curling tighter around healed skin.

Credence looks up at him, wanting those hands to sink deeper, dissolve him, and he almost collapses to the floor. Graves seems to know- _he always does_ \- and so he pulls Credence closer, resting his chin on the boy’s dark head. One of his hands comes to rest at Credence’s neck, warm and rough and reassuring.

“I…I’ve been trying. Not to make her mad.”

“Good. That’s good, Credence,” Graves murmurs, stroking hair carefully.

“I’m sorry,” Credence chokes out, wanting forgiveness and _penance._

_I am not deserving. I do not deserve him._

Graves is a knight- although far from white- and Credence feels that he does not deserve the rescue he is receiving. The healing. The strength.

“Don’t apologize to me,” Graves says softly.

Graves is a tempered sword and Credence is a shield, battered and dented in places where he’s received blows.

The hands on Credence’s head move and he feels that those hand are making the dents disappear, just like the bruises on his arms. 

* * *

 

The children laugh and jeer. They throw things.

He knows he shouldn’t feel so angry. He knows they are human and misinformed and cruel but he doesn’t care.

He walks down the alley with heavy feet, the echo ignored by the children. When he reaches the end, he sees Credence where he is turned into the stone wall.

“Leave him be,” Graves growls lowly.

The magic, suggestive and thin, swirls around the children. They look back at him with frightened, dirty faces. He cannot help but feel a small twinge of triumph- not at their fear, but at the idea that they might think twice in the future.

He doesn’t notice them leaving, though, because Credence turns when he speaks and his dark eyes are just the same as always.

The same, and different.

It seems that in his moment of need, there are no curtains covering his feelings. Instead, Credence openly gazes, sliding to the ground, tears welling up as his hands rise. He is a supplicant praying to a great and terrible God, asking for forgiveness for a crime he has not committed. A crime that is not even truly a crime.

And Graves, despite his best intentions, reaches down to him.

**Author's Note:**

> I really love writing these two. I like the idea of their relationship; from what we know of Graves, I feel like he'd be a good enough guy to realize that he's starting something dangerous but too good not to do it. It seems to me like he's a kind of Obi-wan character and I miss seeing him as himself in the movie. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this (short) piece and look forward to more!


End file.
